


And For Every King That Died, They Would Crown Another

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Kinktober 2019 [28]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Codependency, Kinktober Day 28: Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, heavy AU verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-16 02:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Regis stands by his word.They will not take Noctis from him.





	And For Every King That Died, They Would Crown Another

“You will not take him from me.”

It’s little more than a breath in the quiet nursery. Not even a whisper. Not loud enough to wake the babe sleeping soundly beneath Regis’ gaze, not enough for Clarus, who stands just outside the open door, moonlight spilling into the room, to hear. It’s not directed at them anyhow, but at the Gods - at Bahamut, at the Crystal. 

The Lucii have always been so fiercely possessive about their own. Wary of the Gods, of the Crystal’s fickle loyalty. They proclaim there is a danger, a threat to the whole of Eos that must be stopped. They say that there will be a child born into the Caelum line that will eradicate the evil, at the cost of their life. And so from the time of Somnus Lucis Caelum, there has been a silent order given down the line - _ protect your own against the machinations of the gods. Keep the blood safe from the thieves in the sky. _

Regis had grown up with a father who watched him like a hawk, who wrapped arms around him when he was small, and stood mere inches away from him even as an adult fixing to ascend the throne to take his father’s place. Mors, like his father before him, and every parent before him, watched for signs that the Gods would try to take what did not belong to them from him. Would try to rip Regis from him. 

And now Regis does the same for his own son. For Noctis, in place of bright, loving Aulea, who the Gods snatched away on a bloody birth bed, even as Regis fought to save her. Even as his magic was _ rejected, _he fought for his Queen. For his unborn child. He fought, but he only saved one. The Gods took the other. 

They will not take Noctis. And if they try, Regis will prove that the God-killing blood still runs hot in his veins, a token passed down from the Founder himself alongside the sacred orders.

_ Protect your own. _

They will not take Noctis from him.

  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x

When Noctis is five, Niflheim sends a creature to kill him. The daemon, were it merely faced with Noctis, would have carved a bloody swathe through the soldiers, caretakers and even Regis’ own son, likely gutting him and killing him. 

But Regis carries his son always, or walks with him. Even when the counsel protests, even when Noctis goes _ “I’m too big, Dad,” _Regis does not leave his side. He watches the skies, and the waters, and the roads, and so when Niflheim sends their monsters, Regis shows them his.

He sends a blistering fire, hot enough to overtake even the Infernian in its rage. It melts the creature down, and the screaming, contorted beast is brought low. And then Regis sends waves upon waves of burning, freezing ice, while Noctis buries his face in Regis’ neck and whimpers in fear. 

_ Fear. His child fears. _

It makes Regis _ rage. _

The creature dies a blood, miserable death, locked in an eternal form between ice and fire. Regis smooths a hand down Noctis’s tiny trembling back, singing him a nonsense lullaby as he calls for Clarus to come pick him up. 

The war with Niflheim, such as it is, is short. Regis pays them but one visit. Mors, having done the same during his own reign, when Niflheim began showing signs of encroaching on areas that were not theirs to have, left an impression. One they evidently remember, given the color Iedolas Aldercapt’s face turns when Regis walks in the room by himself. 

“I will be blunt,” he says, to the generals and the schemers and the Emperor himself, all watching him. “If you take a single step outside your borders, I will cut you down. Niflheim will be wiped off the map. There will be no mercy given, no quarter, not to your citizens or your soldiers or even to you. Stay inside your world, Niflheim. Draw even a single step closer, and not even the Gods will be enough to save you.”

They remember his warnings for a time. Two years, right up until Iedolas dies, and the Chancellor takes charge. Until suddenly boots are marching on Tenebrae and Accordo.

And so Regis does as bidden by the Founder King, when his brother was first taken by the Gods, their Oracle turned to the side of the supposed _ light. _

He protects his blood, and wipes Niflheim off the map.

  


x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Noctis grows quickly. 

His magic, the strongest Regis has felt in a long time, unfurls itself like a flower in the sun, and from that moment there is no going back. He starts training with the Crownsguard on his thirteenth birthday, moves on to the Glaive during his fourteeth year, but by the time he’s fifteen the only one capable of teaching him more is Regis himself.

And so Regis does as his father, and as the Founder himself once did, and begins teaching his son the jobs of their line. And as he teaches, he talks - of what was, what is, what will be. Noctis soaks the lessons up like a sponge, eager to learn more, to expand his powers, what he can and can’t do. 

By the time he’s sixteen, he is as close to Regis on magical power as he’s going to get. His physical strength however, keeps growing. For this, Clarus winds up getting enlisted, pitting Noctis against his son and future Shield Gladiolus, who is only too eager to get his hands on the “runt” that has been making all sorts of noise for a while now. 

They get along well, Regis is glad to see. But still, he keeps a wary eye. Both on the world, and on Noctis. Always on Noctis. 

“Dad?” Seventeen finds Noctis in his study one morning, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. “Can I ask something?”

He puts his pen down, removes his glasses. He could use the break. “Of course.”

“Er.” He glances at Clarus. “It’s kind of private?”

Clarus bows, and sees himself out. Regis waits as the silence stretches. And at last, Noctis asks the question Regis asked Mors so long ago. 

“Why do you watch me all the time?”

And so, Regis tells him. Of the Dragon-God and his arrogance, how he views humanity through a warped lens. How once upon a time, a man named Somnus had a brother named Ardyn, and he loved him dearly. He would do anything for Ardyn. 

But the Gods, in their arrogance, in their ruthless desire to be the most loved things in existence, filled Ardyn with darkness. A darkness so deep and so black, it sent him mad. The Starscourge, people called it. They filled Ardyn with it, and Ardyn fled, unwilling to hurt the man he loved more than anything. He fled to Aera Mils Fleuret, who the Dragon-God called on to take Ardyn to Angelgard, and lock him away on the Gods’ holy island. An Oracle she was, God-speaker, and so most loyal to the Gods. A wolf in the skin of a sheep.

And then to Somnus, they granted a Crystal, and the surname of Lucis Caelum. But Somnus refused. He refused the Crystal, and followed Ardyn to Angelgard in a desperate attempt to save him. To be with his brother. 

Aera Mils Fleuret stood in his way. There was a fight, and when it was over Aera was dead, and Somnus was still alive, but Ardyn had succumbed. All because Somnus had loved Ardyn more than he had loved the Gods, and the Gods, bitter and angry, refused to let that stand.

“Bahamut tells of an evil that will eventually require a Chosen King to defeat,” Regis finishes, refilling Noctis’ tea cup for the third time. His son sits in his chair, pale-faced, frightened. Sparks dance off Regis’ fingers over his own teacup, and he hastily forces the rage down before he frightens Noctis worse. “The Lucii refuse to allow ourselves to be used in this manner, not after we were set up by the God in question. And so the unspoken law has been passed down from the time of the Mystic - we must always watch our children. We must protect what is ours, and watch, and if the Gods come seeking, we must drive them back.”

“What if I’m him?” 

Regis pauses, peering at his son’s terrified face over the rim of his teacup. He takes a sip. “Then I will kill the Dragon God when he comes to take you.”

Noctis stands, his chair tipping over. “You can’t!”

“I can, and I will,” Regis says. “He will not take you from me, Noctis.”

“I-I can just refuse to go with him--”

Regis cuts his son off. “What makes you think he will come for you, Noctis?”

Noctis goes quiet. The kind of quiet he does when he’s been caught in a lie, and not a small one like children tell. His gaze drifts up and over Regis’s head as he answers. “Just a thought. I _ could _be--”

“Noctis.”

Regis has never been an unkind parent. Never raised a hand, or done more than be stern at times when Noctis was indulging in a curiosity he shouldn’t have been. But Regis has been the son, just as he is now the father, and he knows that sometimes lies have a way of growing out of fear. Because when a son fears the way his father might react, the thought comes in _ well maybe if I just keep quiet, it’ll go away by itself. _

And Noctis knows he’s been caught. He knows if he runs, Regis will simply chase him until he grows too tired to run any longer. If he stays silent, Regis will wait until the silence chokes the answer out. 

“A Messenger came. From the north.”

Beneath the desk, Regis’ hand tightens around his knee. _ From Tenebrae. The place of traitors. _

“Her name was Gentiana. She said-- she said I had a ‘great duty’ to mankind, and… and that ‘my Oracle would stand ready to help me’. She gave me a book. To. Talk to Luna with.”

Luna. Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. The latest in a long line of Oracles. Sylva’s daughter. “Bring me the book,” Regis orders softly, and Noctis, shoulders hunched up to his ears, does. The book is small and plain, a diary almost in appearance. Something nobody would think about interfering with.

Inside, there’s a first entry, from the young Oracle. _ Hello Noctis, Gentiana has told me about you. My name is Lunafreya Nox Fleuret. Would you like to be friends? _

Rage. A rage so deep, so terrible, that Regis feels the room dip down in temperature abruptly. Noctis shivers, his breath coming in icy puffs. Seeing his son in distress is enough to cool the rage, at least a fraction. He draws his power back in, warms the room back up, and tosses the book up in the air, blasting it with a bolt of thunder. 

Bits of black ash fall around them. Noctis doesn’t look afraid, or remorseful. Regis stands, and comes around the desk, and cups his face, bringing their foreheads together. 

“If they contact you again,” he breathes, “I want you to come to me. No excuses, Noctis. You might think she is your friend, but she will embroil you in a drama the Gods laid out long ago. They will take everything from you, and punish you for the crime of having been born a Caelum, unfearful of their kind. They will lay your lands to waste, your friends and family to ash and dust, and they will do things to you that will make you go mad with pain. Do not let them linger, Noctis. Not here,” he taps his boy’s chest, above his heart. “Or here.” A tap to the head. “Come to me at once if they find you again. If you can’t reach me, tell someone to come find me. But do not them in again.”

“I’m sorry,” Noctis offers. “It won’t happen again. I just didn’t want to bother you.”

“You aren’t bothering me. If you were, I would tell you.” Regis wraps him up in a hug. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“Yeah. For now. Thanks dad.”

“You’re welcome. Now off you go. I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Only a few weeks later, Regis comes across a woman cornering his son, tall and dark-haired, and he doesn’t think. He lashes out with lightning, with fire, and Noctis bolts as the woman whirls, eyes opening into pools of icy white. 

“Get out of my house,” Regis demands, striding forward, calling on the powers of the Lucii. In his ring, he hears their voices, furious, as they approach the Goddess of Ice. 

“_ You cannot hold the King of the Stone hostage from his duty,” _ Shiva hisses, and her guise drops, black becoming white, robes turning to silks. She drifts through the air, and Regis without so much as a pause, lets out another blast of fire. She blocks that one, but she’s too slow to the block the tornado of flame Regis conjures behind her. Her screams echo off the walls, and Regis feels his rage fed higher, as the Lucii whisper _ threat to our blood, threat to our offspring, threat, threat, threat! _

He doesn’t see a Goddess, when he looks at her. All he sees is a threat to Noctis. 

_ A threat to _ ** _my son._ **

And so he deals with her like he has dealt with every threat to Noctis thus far. He calls on fire and flame to burn, and her voice grows weaker and weaker and weaker, her ice no match for his rage. And when there is nothing left but a puddle on the ground, he still sets the fire to burn. Eventually, there is not even that.

“Dad?”

He looks up, just in time for Noctis to run up and wrap him in a tight hug. “It’s alright Noctis, you’re safe now. Did she hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” There are tear tracks on his face, and he looks Regis over like he’s expecting to find wounds. “What about _ you?” _

“I’m fine,” Regis reassures, and when Noctis continues to not look convinced, dips his head down to press a kiss to Noctis’ knuckles. “I promise. She didn’t lay a single finger on me.”

Noctis glances over to the place where an Ice Goddess had once stood. “Is she really… dead?”

“For a time.” As much as the Lucii disliked the Six, there was no surefire way to end their existence mankind had yet found. Ways to destroy the current version of them, or their bodies? Certainly. Niflheim had destroyed both the Firebringer and the Glacian before, and the Infernian has yet to be seen again, his old body still atop Ravatogh, the Glacian’s body in Ghorovas Rift. And now, a lost second body for the Glacian. 

“She will eventually reincarnate into something else, and when that happens likely seek revenge. But it will take time - centuries, perhaps.”

With any luck, by the time the Goddess_ did _come back, Noctis would be long dead, this whole matter buried, and the Gods will have moved on to a different plot. 

“You’re chilled, my dear. Come, tea and snacks. You need it, after that fright.”

Noctis sleeps uneasily that night; Regis can hear him through the secret passage between their rooms, and when he slips out beneath the covers of his own bed to investigate, he finds a well-known, if distant God, hovering over Noctis. 

Carbuncle regards Regis with shrewd eyes, ruby horn glowing. Regis feels his phone vibrate, and brings it up. A message from an unknown number. He clicks it, keeping one eye on the little green fox as he does.

** _You really fucked up big time, Old King. Bahamut’s pissed._ **

Regis, rather than answering, types back. 

_ Noctis is not his to have. None of us are. _

** _No, but you really think that logic is gonna fly with a DRAGON? He views humanity as his property, and you’re challenging him by killing one of the Six. Leviathan wants to wage open war. Titan’s ready to throw the hunk of rock down and start smashing. Ramuh’s the only one holding his temper, because he’s like me - he’s been around enough to know how humanity plays. He knows Bahamut’s playing the wrong way._ **

_ And you? Why are you here? To impart a warning? _

** _No. _ ** Black eyes blink at him. ** _Not all of us are out to get you. I told Bahamut, back at the beginning that this was a bad move. Somnus didn’t want anything to do with us, or the Crystal. Bahamut wouldn’t hear of it, though, refused to think you’d disobey him or his Prophecies. I _ ** _ like _ ** _your kid, Old King. I’d like to see him keep breathing. And I’d like you to keep seeing your son safe._ **

Regis considers the words blinking on the little screen. It’s true in some of his elder’s journals, Carbuncle was mentioned as a protector of children, and dreams. When Noctis was younger, one of the Glaives had carved him a little totem out of wood of the creature. The totem had been lost when the Maralith attacked, and Noctis had forgotten all about it. 

If what Carbuncle is claiming is true, it means that at least two of the Gods are against everything the rest have been doing. 

_ If I give them back the Crystal, will that be enough to give us peace? To make them leave my son alone? _

** _Old King, at this point, _ ** _ nothing _ ** _is going to stop them from trying to get Noctis. They want their Chosen King, they want Ardyn Lucis Caelum to suffer, and they want your line to play the way they were supposed to, all those years ago. _ **

Regis freezes up. _ Ardyn Lucis Caelum? As in, the brother of Somnus Lucis Caelum? The one who _

** _The one who took the Scourge into his body when the Gods started infecting people who refused to bow to their ways, _ ** Carbuncle says, cutting Regis off. Beneath him, Noctis has stopped whimpering, his brow relaxing as he slips into peaceful slumber. ** _Ardyn refused to let the gods bully them, and so the Gods gave him what he sought - and then made him play dead in a dungeon so his brother wouldn’t purify him and end their little show early. _ **

Regis grips the phone so tight he feels it might crack. He forces himself to breathe. 

The Lucii aren’t alive, but they can be contacted. Reached out to, and in some part, with a sacrifice from a host, made manifest.

Somnus Lucis Caelum died believing he failed his brother. Failed the one man he loved more than himself. The one man he built his empire for. _ An empire we would have ruled together, _he had written, and even now Regis knows what he meant. Every Caelum has, and does. 

To give him that peace now, to tell him _ your brother still lives, tortured by the Gods, _and give him a chance to right that wrong--

_ If I ask, will you tell me where he is? How I can go without the Gods seeing? _

** _I can, and I will. _ ** There’s a sense of smugness to Carbuncle’s next words. ** _I’ll guard your boy, and show you to the place where he’s waiting. And as for Bahamut not seeing - leave that to me as well. You’re waging one hell of a war, you know. _ **

_ A war I will win. They will not take Noctis, not now, and not ever. _

** _In that, we’re in agreement._ **

“Dad?”

Regis jerks, phone nearly dropping from his hands as Noctis scoots up, frowning as he rubs at his eye. Carbuncle plops into his lap, and Noctis stares down at him in confusion, and then up at Regis. “What’s going on?”

“You were having nightmares. I came to investigate, and found our mutual friend here.”

Noctis eyes the little green fox with wary eyes. “Isn’t he…”

Noctis’ phone lights up. He reaches over, and his eyebrows go up as he reads whatever Carbuncle has said. When he looks back at Regis, the king merely says, “Your guardian and friend, if you would let him. In the morning, we will be taking a trip.”

“Where?”

“To Angelgard. Get some rest, Noctis.”

“Wh-wait, you can’t jus--”

“Good night, Noctis.”

  


X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

  
  


Somnus goes practically feral with rage at the news. The rest of the Lucii aren’t much better. Regis ensures Noctis is bundle up to remain properly warm, then tucks him against his side as Clarus drives them to Caem coast, where his boat remains. Noctis is as curious as someone who has never been outside Insomnia before can be, head whipping this way and that as he tries to drink everything in the limited time he has. Regis makes a mental note to come back here some day, if only so he and Noctis can sit by the coast and fish together. 

Then they’re out to sea, Clarus pointing them towards Angelgard, and Regis pulls a deck of cards out of the breast pocket of his suit, and offers them out to Noctis. “Have I taught you how to play Rummy yet?”

“No!” Noctis grins. “Show me, show me!”

“Alright. The rules are simple enough--”

They spend a comfortable two hours that way, Regis laughing as his son curses out the set of playing cards. 

“What’d you do, _ rig _these things? Seriously!”

“Rummy evidently isn’t your game,” Clarus offers. “Try Go Fish, instead.”

That sets Noctis on a fresh set of hissed swears against his godfather, while Clarus snickers at him from the driver’s seat, and Regis hides a smile behind his hand, warmed by the sight of his son’s enthusiasm. 

Then they’re drawing close, and all the mirth is lost. Noctis hastily scoops the cards up and shoves them in his own pocket, crowding close to Regis again, shivering as overhead dark clouds roll in, blocking the view of the sky. 

_ Leave it to me, _Carbuncle had said. Evidently, Ramuh was willing to lend aid here as well. The closer they draw to the island, the more an unnatural hum begins to fill the air, and a heavy weight presses down on them all. Eventually, Clarus stops the boat, grimacing.

“I know,” is all Regis says. He turns, dropping a kiss onto Noctis’ forehead as he instructs, “Be good and stay here. No matter what happens. Push comes to shove, Clarus, turn the damned boat around and take him home. Guard him with your life.”

“I will. Be safe, Regis.”

The ocean is icy cold when Regis dives in, the waves choppy, almost angry. Regis wonders if this is the moment the Tidemother surges out from beneath him, devouring him in one stern gulp. But that doesn’t happen, and Regis makes it to shore, shivering as he ascends the previously-unexplored island. The humming grows, seemingly angry in tone, as Regis moves deeper. But the ring on his finger grows bright, and the weight is pushed off as the Lucii form around him, a solid wall of ghostly spectres keeping their blood safe from the wrath of the Gods. 

There is a cell, before long. Chained and locked shut, and Regis takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes, stretching a hand out as the ring glows a deep, unnatural violet, seeming to tremble. Whispers fill the air, and Regis feels himself pushed downwards, another coming to fill his body for the moment. 

His own voice, as if from a distance, calls out. “Ardyn!”

The cell door is thrown open, broken clean off its hinges as the creature that was once a man stumbles outside. Dripping black ichor with every move it makes, the fabled Adagium shrieks in fury as it spies Regis standing there. Somnus calls his blade to hand, and the ghostly apparitions tighten their stance around Regis. Somnus begins to walk forward, cautious, but unwilling to stand still. 

“Brother,” Somnus says, and his voice overlaps, and then drowns out Regis’ own voice. His visage gains color, depth, and soon it is not Regis standing in front of the monster at all, but the Mystic in the form he once knew. “My sun and sky, I’ve come back. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, but I’m here now, Ardyn. It’s time to come home.”

He reaches out, and the beast shrinks back, but Somnus doesn’t let him go far. His hands grip black lumps that might be the shoulders, pulling the creature close. Claws reach up to tear at the suit, but Somnus only envelopes him in a hug, pressing cheek to cheek, softly murmuring his brother’s name over and over again. A faint light begins to pulse, the Caelum magics - magics passed down after Somnus, made for undoing Gods and weaving a power not given by the Crystal - reaching out to the dark figure. 

The beast screams and thrashes, as the light pierces through the ichor. Steadily, a man begins to appear out of the black ooze. Dark red hair, piercing golden eyes, taller than Somnus, and darker in skin. 

“Brother,” Somnus breathes, and he reaches up, pulling Ardyn down to him. Ardyn hisses like a wild thing, all fury and insanity after so long. But the longer Somnus holds him, the more his struggles weaken. The more his noises turn to words. The curse of the Gods, slowly being pulled out, purified by the magics Somnus built, magics that earned him his moniker. 

“Somn?” Ardyn slurs, like coming out of a dream. “My moon, where did you go?”

“Ardyn.” 

And Ardyn blinks, and looks down. Regis feels the exact moment realization hits. “Somnus?”

“Yes,” Somnus whispers, and he’s grinning wide enough to hurt, tears rolling down his face. “I’m _ here, _Ardyn. It’s me, I promise.”

Ardyn lets out a noise like he’s been gutted, and his legs go out from under him. Somnus goes with him, and then Ardyn is flat-out _ crying, _clinging tight to a brother long dead, but still waiting for him.

_ “You were gone!” _ Ardyn wails, tears falling down his face as he cries, as he and Somnus cling to each other like they’re the only ones around. _ “I-I looked for you, in the fields! Aera said--” _

“Aera lied to you,” Somnus gets out, furious and yet so happy to have his brother at his side again. “She stopped being for you the instant the Gods called on her. The instant they decided to use them as pawns instead of people. I came for you, Ardyn, but all I found was a body. I couldn’t-- if I’d known, I _ swear--” _

They babble back and forth, kissing and touching and clinging tight to one another, unwilling to be parted. Then at last Somnus draws back, and says, “We should go. Ramuh can’t hold favor forever. Come home, Ardyn.”

“I can’t.” Calmer now, Ardyn blinks at his brother. “I’ve forgotten the way, Somn.”

“Then I’ll lead you there. Here.” He wraps their hands together. “Just like when we were kids, yeah? Together, always.”

Ardyn smiles, and nods. They walk down to the edge of the water, and there, Somnus and Ardyn vanish in a flash of light. Regis stumbles, himself once more, heart heavy with the emotions shared between ancestors. 

Within the ring, there are whispers of joy. Of welcome. 

_ Home, home, he has come home! _

_ The Mystic weeps no more-- _

_ The lost half of the Founder King returns at last-- _

_ Safe, _ the Lucii whisper, as Regis swims his way back to the boat, and Clarus and Noctis pull him up, over the railing, where Noctis throws towels on him and fusses, nearly losing his mind at the claw marks in his suit. _ Home, safe at last, safe, safe. _

Overhead, the clouds roll back as Clarus speeds the boat back towards the mainland. For a long moment, there is silence.

And then the seas go black and choppy, and an ear-splitting shriek splits the air. Regis doesn’t think twice. 

“_ Into the hold, now!” _he roars at Noctis, all but shoving his son downstairs, bolting and latching the door behind him as Clarus curses, fighting the waves as they grow taller and taller, forming massive spirals, then entire walls--

The Tidemother emerges from the sea with a blood-boiling shriek of pure rage, her massive head swinging around to lock onto Regis. She spits something out, but Regis doesn’t hear, doesn’t care. He reaches in for the magic within himself, and calls on the thunder in the skies, lightning and reaches deeper still, tapping in the ring, where the Lucii are frothing at the mouth again, this time with an additional voice ringing out, pure fury.

** _Fry the bitch-snake, Regis!_ **

And perhaps Ramuh is in agreement, for the skies darken once again, black and roiling with bolts of yellow and white. They pour down like a storm, the Tidemother screaming her rage for all to hear and know, even as Regis adds his own power to the mix, as the world comes in blasts of white light and flashes and bolts of power. 

It takes longer than it did for Shiva. The Tidemother is fury and rage and unrelenting power, and perhaps in the end Ramuh _ did _strike her, a familiar-looking stave hurling itself from the heavens as the boat begins to get towed in by a current. She dies screaming, her body dissolving into nothing but foam, the ring of her cries echoing for miles. 

Regis is soaked to the bone, quivering from the drain on his magics, as the waters begin to calm. He can hear Noctis pounding frantically on the door, the lock barely holding against his son’s onslaught. To stop Noctis from putting a hole in it, he undoes the latch, and winds up flat on his back, as his son barrels into him, sobbing. 

“Shhh, shh, I’m okay Noctis, I’m alright my Prince. Shhh now, shh--”

Noctis won’t hear it. He curses Regis, calls him every foul name under the sun and then some, latching onto him with a leech’s grip and refusing to let go, even so Regis can stand. Even when the boat comes to a stop, he wraps arms around his father’s waist and refuses to be parted. 

“You spoil him,” Clarus tells him, but there’s no steel in his words. They’ve both seen the Lucis Caelum ways, they know the old stories, and they know Noctis is just as prepared to fight a God for Regis’ existence as Regis is for his. “He’ll grow up setting everything that looks at his child wrong on fire at this rate.”

“Good,” Regis says, which is not good, but he’s not going to say that and admit Clarus might be right. “We have to protect our own, Clarus. That’s all.”

Clarus rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. 

And later still, when they’re back home, Regis is tucking down the covers for bed when he hears the door between their chambers open, and Noctis marches in, chin up, defiant. “I’m staying with you tonight.”

Regis goes to say _ I’m fine, Noctis, really. _ But the words get caught in his throat as he actually _ looks. _His son is trembling. Noctis is doing a fine job of concealing it, but he is, and now that Regis looks him in the eye, there is a raw fear in there rarely seen. The little resistance he was prepared to put up wavers, and then dies. 

“Alright. Just don’t kick me off.” He scoots over, the mattress plenty big enough for two, expecting Noctis will want his space, being as he’s almost eighteen. Instead, his son curls close, wrapping arms around his middle and burying his face in Regis’ chest. Regis turns the light off, closes the curtains, and cards a hand through Noctis’ silken locks, trying to relax him down. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Noct. There’s no need to be afraid.”

“You keep saying that,” Noctis retorts, his voice small. “But then you turn around and do something so reckless like fight the gods over me.”

“Because you are my son. Because the Gods are traitorous, and I won’t let them take you, Noctis. That means standing my ground--”

Noctis comes up with tears in his eyes, sobbing. _ “I’m not going to survive if you die, Regis!” _

Regis is brought up short, both by the sight of his son not merely crying, but in a full-fledged _ fit, _and the use of his given name. He sits up, and reaches out, uncaring of the boundaries to wrap Noctis in his arms. “Noctis. Love, what is this about?”

“There’s no point,” Noctis says. “Don’t you _ get it?! _ You’re fighting the fucking _ Gods _ for me! I’ve read the damned books, the journals, I _ know _ our history! Every Lucian King before you has fought and died for their kids! They’ve written every move the Gods have made, they’ve written down the name of every Oracle to come through, but you-- _ you wiped Niflheim off the map for me!” _

“And I would do it again--”

_ “You can’t say that and expect me to be okay with you dying!” _ Noctis screams, and lashes out. Regis catches his hands, pulls him in tight, folds his entire body around Noctis to keep him still. “How am I supposed to live if you go, Regis? If Bahamut comes down, and decides that’s it, no more playing, no more defiant little mortals? How am I supposed to pick up your crown and _ keep going?” _He sniffles, weakly pounding against his father’s chest with a hand. Regis catches it and presses a kiss to the knuckles, aching to bring some kind of relief to Noctis, something to make the pain stop.

This is the problem with closing the gates to outsiders. To keeping eyes on the sky and on the water, and protecting your children with all the fierceness of a dragon protecting their clutch. At some point, the bond goes both ways. Parents who will die to see their children live. Children who refuse to live if their parents don’t too. It’s a messy, tangled mess that has happened before, emotions bleeding into one another. Mors never fought Gods for Regis - he didn’t have to. He would have, if Regis had been Chosen. But he wasn’t, Noctis is.

And all Noctis is seeing is his father facing off against giants that everyone else says are insurmountable. Putting his life on the line for a boy that doesn’t see him as Regis does. Noctis is his _ world. _His entire universe. If Noctis were to die--

“It goes both ways, I’m afraid,” Regis says, his own voice tight and pained. “I do all of this because if I stop, if I let them take you, I won’t be able to go on. I won’t rest, even if my body is brought down. I’ll keep looking for you, Noctis, keep hunting for whatever it was that took you. I’ll even become a daemon, if I must. Or a restless spirit. But my heart aches every instant you are in danger. I can’t just sit by and let them have you.”

“Then let me fight!” Noctis says. “Teach me how to kill them!”

“I don’t have to. You already know. The day I taught you to reach outside the Crystal for magic, you learned how to kill a God. It’s just a matter of building up your power, of putting thoughts to actions. But Noctis, if you go out on to that field, I won’t let you do it alone. I will drag myself there if I must. You want to fight, I’ll let you fight. So long as you understand that we do it together.”

“Just don’t die,” Noctis begs, and buries his face back in Regis’ chest, gripping him tight. “Please don’t die.”

“I won’t. I promise - I won’t go where you can’t follow. Not yet.”

_ “Not ever.” _

“Noctis--”

“No,” Noctis snarls. “I won’t live if you die, Regis. I meant that. The line ends with me.”

He can already tell Noctis isn’t joking, or lying. There’s a conviction burning behind his gaze that he’s seen before, that he knows. His Prince won’t be swayed. 

“Stubborn,” Regis sighs, and kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his nose. “Very well. Such a mess.”

He collapses back into the bed before long, Noctis still wrapped around him. Regis stares at the ceiling above him, rubbing up and down the slender back. 

With the Tidemother and the Glacian gone, the Stormbringer on their side, the Archean trapped beneath a great meteor and the Infernian nowhere in sight, all that leaves is the Draconian. He doubts it will be long before the so-called Dragon of War reveals himself. That creature never was very good at patience. 

He falls asleep like that, and dreams of softer, sweeter things. Of himself and Noctis, on a field overlooking the Slough in spring, flowers dancing in the air around them. Noctis watches him with a heavy gaze, and when Regis turns to him, speaks his earlier words.

_ “The line ends with me.” _

He reaches out, and Regis lets him, because he’s never denied Noctis anything, and won’t deny him this either. His lips are soft, the kiss little more than a formality for something that has been in their blood for ages. Regis slides a hand underneath the shirt he wears, bears him down onto the grass, slips his own jacket off and tosses it aside. Noctis accepts his touch in the dream, ruts up against him, strong and sure, eager even, as he cries out Regis’ name like a prayer. 

He wakes to find Noctis watching him, hands folded beneath his arms, blue eyes darkened a touch. 

“Good dream?” he offers, voice husky. A pink tongue comes out to wet his lips. Regis finds himself tracking the movement. Out of the corner of his eye, something shifts. He glances over to find a sleeping Carbuncle on his dresser, peering at him with one open eye. The eye shuts.

Regis breathes in. 

This dance, at least, he knows well. A dance from the line of Somnus and Ardyn, one that has followed them every step of the way.

“I don’t know, my Prince. Was it?” 

He sits up, pushing Noctis back, hand sliding beneath his shirt just like in the dream. Noctis’s eyes darken, and he parts his legs, letting Regis slot himself between them. Noctis shivers beneath his touch, winding his arms behind Regis’s neck, licking his lips as Regis bends down. The kiss is more passionate than in the dream, Noctis clearly just as eager as he was there, and Regis just as helpless not to give him everything he desires. 

Pants, underwear, shirts, all come off in due time. Noctis is utterly gorgeous sprawled out, watching him, toes curling in the blankets, lifting his hips when Regis urges him to, to slide a pillow beneath him. He warms the lube between his hands before pressing against Noctis’ body, soft flesh parting for him like it was never a thought to do otherwise. 

He pauses before pressing in, silently offering Noctis a chance to back out - but Noctis takes that as an initiative, and bears down on his cock, clearly tired of waiting. So Regis pushes up into him, relishing in the soft moans and sweet little noises it earns him, in the velvet grip around him, in the way Noctis clings to him like he will die if he doesn’t. 

And he isn’t alone in his pleasure. The ring on his finger sparks and glows faintly, and Regis gets the impression of having been here before, twisted around someone of the same blood, of pleasure given and taken, shared between family. A defiance against the Gods who demand the continue the line, who want sacrifices for a war conjured by them for their own amusement. 

Noctis chants his name with each thrust, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as he shakes apart. Regis presses closer still, pressing desperate, messy kisses along his body as he own orgasm finds him, and the feeling is multiplied again and again and again. He slips from Noctis’ body, but he’s still hard, and Noctis rolls over, lifting his hips in invitation, and Regis mounts him again. 

He loses track of how many times they couple, Noctis eager and receptive to each thought of another round, the feedback loop supplying him with both stamina and an ache for more, Regis ever-hungry for proof that his son is alive and safe, that nothing will take him from Regis’ side.

But at last the ring goes quiet, and Regis shivers one last time and collapses, dropping Noctis down into the mess with him. 

The future looms, the battle with the Draconian with it, but there’s no longer the possibility of death weighing heavy on his mind. Not when there’s so much to live for. 

“Don’t go where I can’t follow,” Noctis breathes. 

By way of answer, Regis just lifts one of his hands and presses a kiss to the knuckles. 

They might not win the battle, but the war is _ finished. _


End file.
